POETRY.

THE ROBIN.

Haan Winter strikes on the pools and the dikes, The ice grows thick and the boughs bend low, Laden with ponderous loads of snow ;

Too keen the cold for the ravenous shrikes, And the cock has not spirit to crow. Winter weighs down on country and town, And fringes the holly robust and green With tangles and wreaths of yesternight And spangles of Christmas sheen ; And the feathery birch is ghostly grown With cerements all of purest white ; But on a twig, perched full in the light, One patch of red is seen.

At my neighbour's window, two round-eyed girls.„ With plump-fed cheeks and dimpled chin, Flatten their noses and shake their curls, Snug in their own warm nest, To espy the gleam of a soldier-breast, That bears a heart, though small, within As gallant and bold as the best.

Worms are locked up by the stingy frost, And berries are few and grubs are dear, And the greedy sparrows, a numerous host, Swoop down in a cloud, and sweep the coast,.

Whenever crumbs appear : But straight from his tree Robin makes a dart,.

And two lookers-on take Robin's part, As he fights for his morsel of cheer; And anon trills loud and clear A pluckier song than all the rest, For he carries about in his soldier-breast A'heart that knows no fear.

This stout, small bird might surely have heard„ In a dim, dark way, the gracious word

Of Him who feeds the fowls when they cry,—

Raven, robin, and linnet ; For day by day his little, quick eye Sends wistful messages up to the sky, And down to his friends of earth ;

The fields lie bare, but spite of dearth,

Providence leaves on the window-sill Some well-watched. scraps for Robin's bill;:

So he gobbles them up with a hungry zest,.

And thankfulness fills his soldier-breast, And the brave little heart within it.

Stern Winter tightens her iron hold On all things living and all things dead: Silence prevails: the ruthless cold

Waxes keener o'er field and fold,—

Joy from the world seems fled.

Round eyes peep out through the crusted pane„ With shivering doubts and boding fears; Wondering Robin comes not again To pipe his merry " Good morning" trill, And, dry their rising tears.

Alas I their fears had told. them true ; On the smooth-laid drift without a stain One.lonesome patch arrests the view,— A bundle of feathers and two little legs,

Stiff and upright as wooden pegs,

With slender, motionless toes outspread, And a heavenward-pointed bill: Like a tiny "warrior taking his rest," There lies on the snow a. soldier-breast, But the brave little heart is still. EDWIN SMITH-